


They Would All Be Wolves

by derpypuppy



Category: Norse Mythology
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 02:38:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derpypuppy/pseuds/derpypuppy





	They Would All Be Wolves

"Well, I've finally done it," Loki muttered, laughing cruelly at his own plight. The god slumped down against a shattered column of iron, some ancient ruin made into his makeshift home away from Asgard. "I've finally gotten them all to hate me." With a shaky finger, he traced the runes of their names into the dust beneath him—his blood-brother, his wife, his few…his only friend. Here and there, his litany was interrupted by the wet blotches of teardrops. He had decided that he would stay here for the next few thousand years, alone in the long cold dark of Jotunheim. It was the sort of place he thought he deserved. 

Loki shriveled into himself as the seasons passed, suffering the hundred different variations of winter that sprung from Jotunheim's heart. His eyes had gone dry from shedding more tears than they had; his mouth gone dry from silence. He did not eat or slumber, did not rise from the stone floor where he had etched the names of all his enemies. He thought that he might die soon. No one had even known a jotun to die like that, wasting away in the dark, but for Loki it had become a matter of deep-seated faith that he was not so immortal as to survive this. 

When Angrboda found him, his eyelids had been frosted shut with a thin rime of ice. "Pathetic," she grumbled, spitting into one hand before wiping the ice from his face. Loki twisted his neck to look up at her, his bleary vision not yet accustomed to the harsh light that silhouetted her. "Loki, I spend so long searching for you, and you cannot even open your eyes to look at me?" He struggled to speak, opening his mouth with a visible effort and struggling through choked syllables, his silver tongue gone tarnished with age. Angrboda silenced his efforts with a fingertip, placing it to his lips and conjuring a trickle of water to flow down his throat. After months—years?—of neglect, Loki found himself gulping down the stream as if it were redemption. "Angr…boda…" he tried, his voice still shaky with disuse, "…why?"

"You are like lost dog, Loki. You do not know how to take care of yourself." She lifted him with an insistent tug under the arm, dragging him falteringly to his feet. He reached for the pillar's face to steady himself, but Angrboda had already stepped in to catch him, letting him lean against her. "Then all are children will be dogs," Loki said, his eyes regaining a little of their gleam, "and our happy wedding bed will be ruined by their pissing on it." Scowling, the sorceress flicked his nose sharply, by way of correction. "Do you never tire of being wrong? I would have no interest in wedding some flame-haired idiot who thinks he has to run away from everyone who cares about him." She put her cheek against his, nuzzling against him to ward off the cold. "And also, our children would take after me—they would all be wolves."


End file.
